


The Judgement of the Doge

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Heversham, formerly Ardsley Wooster, is in Venice on honeymoon with his second wife Lucilla.  But when he saves the Doge from an assassination attempt, things go horribly wrong for him for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Judgement of the Doge

There is a kind of light in Venice which I have seen nowhere else on my extensive travels. No doubt there is some prosaic scientific explanation for it which involves local microclimates and reflections from the water; but to me, it makes the place somehow dreamlike. It is like walking around inside an old painting. I have wandered through the Piazza di San Marco surrounded by beautiful, graceful old architecture, but uncertain that any of it is actually real. Perhaps, I reflected, all these soaring towers and lovely arches sank beneath the waves hundreds of years ago, and I am in fact standing on the scuffed parquet floor of some art gallery in London or Rome or Vienna, with only my imagination transported here by the miracle of some old master's brush.

That is why the events I am about to describe fill me with especial distaste. They would have been unpleasant wherever they had happened; but for them to have happened in Venice, of all places, made them somehow worse. And, of course, it really did not help that Lucilla and I were on our honeymoon at the time.

It was just for a week, because that was the longest period for which we were both allowed to be away from the embassy at the same time, and even that was a special concession; this, of course, is what happens when one marries one's most senior aide. They have, I am happy to say, sorted that out since then, and we can now take all our holidays together; but Whitehall does not always move very fast, and it had not done so in this case.

Consequently, we were being rather methodical in our quest to see all the major sights. We had started off with the usual gondola trip, and Lucilla had laughed at me for talking like a guide book; she was quite right, naturally, because I was. After that, I reeled off local information only when asked. We had seen San Marco, of course, and the Bridge of Sighs, and the Doge's Palace, and a whole list of fascinating churches, each with its own unique character. We had taken a trip over to Murano and watched some of the local glassmakers at work, and bought little ornaments for Agatha and Alice, who were naturally still at the embassy. We had also bought masks, which had been chiefly Lucilla's idea. She was captivated by all the beautiful masks which were on sale, and suggested that perhaps the next Embassy ball should be masked. I was happy to go along with this suggestion, so she selected a wonderfully ornate white and gold mask adorned with feathers and glittering stones, while I chose a rather simpler, but still very elegant, dark red domino.

Then I spotted a pair of matching dark green masks in a corner of the shop, clearly intended for a couple, and grinned. I had in any case been looking for some small gifts for some of my friends. I decided to buy those too, and give them to Gil and Agatha – Agatha Heterodyne, of course, not my Agatha – so that they could match at the ball. I always invited Gil to these affairs as a matter of course, and Agatha too if she happened to be in the area; it would be a simple enough matter to arrange the next embassy ball to coincide with a time when she would be able to attend.

“We'd better put them all in the same bag,” said Lucilla. “They're delicate, and at least if they're all together they'll protect one another somewhat. No, give it to me, dear, I'll carry it. It doesn't weigh anything, and you've got your sketch pad.”

“Well, yes, but that's inside my coat,” I pointed out.

By now, however, she had firm possession of the bag, and I saw no great sense in trying to dispute it. I glanced at my watch. “Oh,” I said. “We'd probably better get a move on if we want to see the Doge.”

“We had,” Lucilla agreed. “I think we'd better go and station ourselves on the waterfront rather than along one of the canals. It'll be a little less crowded.”

This seemed sensible, and so that was where we went. Of course, we had both seen the Doge before at the wedding of Tsar Arkadii of Russia, and I had even exchanged a few words with her on the somewhat mutually disturbing subject of Captain Bangladesh DuPree; but we had not yet seen her in her native element, as it were. The Doge quite often had ceremonial processions on the water; that was a tradition, of course, but she had more of them than her last two predecessors had done, so it was clear that she liked them. This one was to celebrate the birthday of her younger daughter, and so by the standards of such processions it was likely to be fairly low-key; but it would be well worth seeing, for all that.

We selected an available viewpoint and waited. We were fortunate, because people soon began to crowd in behind us, and it was clear that if we had arrived only five minutes later we should have had difficulty finding a good view. Soon, the first gondolas drew out into the lagoon, filled with musicians. They were playing Monteverdi, or it might possibly have been Gabrieli; I did not recognise the piece, but it was something clearly in the Venetian baroque style, with the bright yet complex sound of trumpets ringing out atop the other instruments' achingly beautiful polyphony, but never at any point overpowering it.

The sunlight glinted off something in one of the gondolas that must have been a trumpet. I was not, of course, wearing my spectacles, and so I could not tell for certain; I had made up my mind not to put them on until the Doge's gondola itself approached us. There were too many people immediately behind us jostling for a proper view, and my spectacle frames had worked rather loose just lately. If I did not hold them in place with one hand, a misplaced shove from behind could easily send them into the lagoon, and I was not planning to stand holding my spectacles on my nose for any longer than I really had to.

The musicians passed us. Ah... now this, surely, must be the Doge. I was just about to reach for my spectacles when I heard a muffled click next to me, the other side from Lucilla.

I know that click. That was why I was able to pick it out among the music, the noise of the crowd, and all the other sounds around us. I was once a spy; and a spy who does not know that click and cannot react to it automatically is, almost certainly, a dead spy.

I reacted automatically. My hand shot out, gripped the barrel of the gun, and twisted it hard away from me. It hadn't been pointing at me, I realised; and then, to my horror, I realised where it had been pointing.

It fired, but harmlessly across the water; I had done that much. My other arm had been around Lucilla's waist, and now I brought it into the action. I was wrestling with a short, thickset, rough-looking man, perhaps ten years my junior, with a red spotted neckerchief and a stubbly chin. People around us were screaming. He was strong, possibly stronger than I was, but he did not have my training, and before he knew it I had the gun away from him. It slipped from my hand and splashed into the lagoon.

Several of the Doge's soldiers came charging up, weapons drawn. The assassin pointed at me.

“He was trying to kill the Doge!” he yelled.

“Well, you have a fine cheek,” I said. “You know very well you were trying to kill her, and I stopped you.”

“Don't listen to him!” the man shouted. “It was him! He's an Englishman. Why should I want to kill the Doge?”

“Because you're a Florentine, not a Venetian,” I said. “I can tell that from your accent. I'm not stupid.”

“No! I am Venetian and proud of it! But my mother, she was from Florence...”

“You are both under arrest,” said one of the Doge's men; a captain, I think.

Lucilla swung round on him. “This is scandalous! Do you know who my husband is?”

“Lucilla, darling,” I said, “please, don't try to pull rank here. It doesn't affect the question of which of us is innocent and which guilty. I have no doubt that these gentlemen will clear that one up soon enough.”

“And you trust them to get it right, I suppose?” She gave the captain a look which I was surprised did not actually freeze him solid on the spot.

“There will have been plenty of witnesses,” I replied. “There were several people right on top of us when he drew that gun. Even if they didn't see him draw it, they must have seen me grab it.”

“Come!” I was grabbed roughly by an arm and hauled away.

“I will go to the British Embassy!” Lucilla shouted after me.

If they let you, darling, I thought. They're going to want to talk to you too, but at least they'll do it on the waterfront. If they haven't arrested you now, they're not going to, and that, at any rate, is something.

They dragged us off to the palace. I knew, of course, that there are secret cells in there which are accessible only through a wall panel in one of the smaller state rooms; naturally we have a spy or two in Venice, as I am sure they do in London. It is one of the basic background facts of international relations. However, I was not expecting to be taken to them. I thought we would be dragged off to the dungeons below the palace. I suppose, however, that we were being viewed as political prisoners, at least until the facts of the case were ascertained.

The Florentine was handed over to one set of guards, and I to another. They took me into one of these cells, relieved me of my coat and waistcoat, and searched me thoroughly and, I might say, rather roughly. Everything I had on me was taken away to be examined, and I was now starting to worry. I am at risk of assassination myself, and therefore I carry weapons. That was not going to go in my favour.

They then brought me, still in my shirt, to a larger room, where they tied me to a chair and left me for a while. It must have been well over an hour before someone finally arrived to interrogate me, by which time I was not only very worried, but getting cold. It is not always warm in Venice, especially in the early spring.

I did not like the look of my interrogator. There were lines about his face which suggested more than simple harshness; I could read cruelty there.

“Your name,” he said.

“Ardsley, Lord Heversham.”

“Your age.”

“Forty-one.”

“Your nationality.”

“British.”

“What are you doing here in Venice?”

“I am on my honeymoon,” I replied.

“At the age of forty-one?”

“Indeed. Lucilla is my second wife. I lost my first wife at the start of the recent war.”

“Why did you try to kill the Doge?”

I sighed. “I did not try to kill the Doge. I prevented that other man from doing so. That would have been witnessed.”

He walked up to me and slapped me hard across the face. “Answer again,” he snarled. “And it is only because you are a lord that you still have your shirt on and I am not using the switch.”

I realised how they must be treating the Florentine. Granted, he was guilty and I was innocent. But, at this moment, they did not know that. I felt a little sick.

“I am not going to change my answer,” I said. “That would mean I would have to lie to you, and I am not planning to do that.”

He slapped me again. “I want the truth,” he said.

“You have already had it. There is no more of it to give you. I did not try to kill your Doge. I have no reason to try to kill your Doge. I am the British Ambassador to the Wulfenbach Empire. Venice is not the enemy of either power.”

“You were seen with the gun, and you were carrying other weapons.” He slapped me again, even harder. “Confess, or, lord or not, I shall have you on the floor where I can kick you.”

I was growing angry now. “I carry weapons because I am at risk of assassination myself,” I snapped. “The late Queen Ewa of Poland sent an agent to kill me before the war, and when that failed to work, she did me the dubious honour of trying to kill me in person. You know Bangladesh DuPree, I suppose? She too has tried to kill me twice, and if we ever meet again I am sure she will have a third attempt. Do you want her to succeed? As for being seen with the gun, all you or anyone else could have seen was two hands on it at once – mine and the Florentine's. I wrested it away from him, but then I dropped it, and it fell into the lagoon.” I paused, scowling at him. “A pity, that. If it had fallen on the ground, we would not be having this conversation now, because your forces, if they are even half as competent as they ought to be, would have checked it for fingerprints. They would then have easily seen whose were on the trigger and whose on the barrel.”

“Queen Ewa is dead and DuPree has disappeared. It is said she is in prison... somewhere,” said the guard. “How very convenient.”

“DuPree is in prison in India, to be precise,” I replied. “And I know that because I helped to put her there.”

“Very well, so you know she's in India. But if you're a British Ambassador as you say, you have a good spy network. I can't see why anyone should want to assassinate you.” He leered at me. “I don't think you're any such thing. I think you're just a spy.”

“I used to be,” I replied, honestly. “But you can easily prove who I am now. You could do that in several ways. You could send to Baron Wulfenbach, who can vouch for me if you don't trust the British Embassy. Or, even better, you could ask the Doge herself. We have met, even if only briefly; but since she was specifically looking for me, I think she may remember what I look like.”

He leaned into my face. “I don't really care who you are, except that I can tell you're a clever man who's used to talking his way out of things. Well, I saw that gun in your hand, and you are not going to talk your way round me. So I'll tell you what I'm going to do now. I'm going to slap you so hard that you go over, chair and all. This is a nice hard stone floor, and you will probably crack your skull on it. Terrible accident, of course. My job's just to smack you around a bit and get some answers, but it seems I don't know my own strength. Tch.”

The last time I had seen a look like that in anyone's eyes, they had belonged to Captain DuPree. I knew very well he would do it.

I could, looking back, have asked him if he really wanted to cause an international incident, but all I could think of at that moment was that there was going to be hell to pay with Lucilla when she found out. And she was Lucilla. She _would_ find out. I was terrified, but for a second or two I almost felt sorry for him.

“Petrucci!” called a voice from behind him. I had not even seen the door open. I sagged in the chair, faint for a moment with relief.

“Petrucci.” It was one of the other guards. “Her Serene Highness wants to see the prisoner.”

Petrucci gave me such an evil glare that I was quite glad not to find myself turned to stone, but he untied me from the chair, though leaving my wrists securely bound behind my back. He and the other guard hustled me back along the corridor, down a few flights of stairs, and into the room with the secret panel, where I suddenly found myself face to face with Her Serene Highness, Benedetta del Mare, the Doge of Venice.

_“Santa Maria,”_ she exclaimed. “Lord Heversham!”

I nodded. “Yes, Your Serene Highness.”

There were more guards on the other side of the room, and among them I was just able to recognise the Florentine, missing his shirt. The Doge gave Petrucci a most severe look.

“This man's face is bruised, Petrucci,” she said, accusingly.

Petrucci bowed almost to the ground. “Your Serene Highness, I was trying to get the truth out of him.”

“I would suggest you used your brains rather than your hands to do that, if I actually believed you had any,” said the Doge witheringly. “I used mine, and consequently I knew the truth before you brought him in here and I realised who he was. He is innocent in this matter, and, more than that, he has been very badly wronged. Give him his coat and waistcoat. They are over there.” She inclined her head. “And, my lord, I apologise profoundly, and I thank you for saving my life. I am now in your debt twice over.” It was at this point that she noticed that my hands were still tied. “You!” she barked at the other guard who had brought me downstairs. “Untie him! And then offer him a seat.”

I was untied with all haste, given my clothes, and ushered into an ornate chair. I immediately took out my spectacles to look at the Florentine, afraid of what they might have done to him; and as soon as I had done so, I shuddered. I was bruised, true, but he was in a far worse state than that. Someone had taken the switch to him, and they had done so with the kind of aplomb that Petrucci might have showed. He was covered in weals, some of them bleeding, and in particular his left eye was closed and swollen.

“Your Serene Highness,” I said, “there is no good cause to treat a man like that, even when he is guilty.” I was, I knew, going above my station here; but I had to speak.

She gave me a curious look. “We will speak of that later, perhaps. For now, I have a lesson for my guards here. Look at these two men, all of you. Look at them carefully. Do you see why Lord Heversham could not have been guilty?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. I, of course, realised exactly what she had deduced, and had thought of mentioning it to Petrucci; but he had not been inclined to believe me against what he thought was the evidence of his own eyes, and even less inclined to check any claim I made, which in this case he could very easily have done.

“Are you all idiots?” the Doge thundered. “You searched both men, you took away all their possessions for examination, and the obvious fact did not occur to you?”

“We... we found weapons on both of them, Your Serene Highness,” said one bold soul.

“Of course you did! Anyone can carry a weapon, and due to the dangerous times we have had of late, most people do. Did it not occur to any of you to look at Lord Heversham's spectacles?”

“He was not wearing them when he was arrested, Your Serene Highness.” That was the captain who had actually performed the arrest.

“Exactly, you pea-brained lackwit,” said the Doge, in exasperation. “When I looked at all the effects you had found on the two men, I saw that Lord Heversham carries two pairs of spectacles about with him. One of them is for reading. The pair that he is wearing now is for distance vision. Surely you all noticed that he did not react to the state of this other prisoner until he put them on and could see him clearly? Lord Heversham's distance vision is not good these days.” She paused. “And if you needed any more evidence, you could have simply looked at his sketch book. Do you not see what he draws? He draws small sculptures and tiny details of architecture close up, all clearly realised, but when he draws scenes they become vaguer and more sketchy as the view recedes into the background. That, of course, could be partly stylistic, but the pattern is consistent through all the sketches. Nothing distant is ever clear, except in one sketch, where he has drawn the top of the Campanile di San Marco quite distinctly. You may also have noticed that there is a postcard view of the top of the Campanile in the front of his sketch book, on which the drawing is clearly based.”

Petrucci blinked at his Doge. She looked as if she wanted to cuff him.

“Idiots,” she said. “Idiots, every one of you, to a man. He was not wearing his spectacles. How in the seven hells do you think he could have seen to aim a gun?”

That rather settled that. The Florentine, who had not spoken a word during these proceedings, was led away, and the Doge dismissed the rest of her guards irritably. “Where can I get some Jägers to replace that rabble, my lord?” she demanded abruptly. “I have heard they do not tend to be very bright, but surely they must be an improvement on what I now have.”

“Oh, some of them are actually quite intelligent, Your Serene Highness; I have the honour of numbering many Jägers among my friends,” I replied. “Nonetheless, I do not think you would be able to get any. They are all loyal to Lady Heterodyne.”

“A pity. You know, my lord, you should wear your spectacles all the time. I realise the fact that you were not wearing them has just established your innocence beyond all doubt, but even so, you will ruin your eyes if you do not.”

“I think they are already going to ruin,” I replied. “My distance vision has deteriorated very badly in the last year or so. But I can navigate well enough without them, and I did not like to wear them on the waterfront with the crowds behind me. They are loose, as you see. They could have gone in the lagoon.”

“Then the very least I can do for you is to have you a new pair made up that fits you properly. You must promise me that you will wear them, though.”

“Thank you, Your Serene Highness; I will. But please, do not concern yourself for me. My doctor and my optician both agree that I am not going blind. I merely have what is termed presbyopia, which is to say that my eyes can no longer change focus easily. It has happened somewhat early, and more rapidly than is usually the case, but at least my sight is unlikely to get much worse now.”

“That is good to hear, because I can tell it is quite poor now.” She paused. “Now. You have a perfectly valid complaint against my guards on your own account, and I will, of course, see to it that that is redressed. In particular, I will have Petrucci cleaning the drains for the next year; that, I think, would be just. But you also complained about their treatment of that other man – Rossi, his name is. Yet you knew very well that he was guilty.”

“Yes, Your Serene Highness,” I replied. “However, when we were brought to the palace, all your guards knew was that one of us was guilty. The situation, if you like, was symmetrical; each of us insisted that he was innocent and the other one was guilty. Now, of course, I was telling the truth and Rossi was lying. But your guards didn't know that.”

“Indeed,” said the Doge. “Because my guards, apparently, are incapable of basic logical thought.”

“Leaving that aside, Your Serene Highness,” I said, “we were, at the start, two men in the same situation. Either of us could, as far as your guards were concerned, have been the guilty one. They mistreated both of us. Yet, because of my rank, all Petrucci did was hit me with his hand, whereas Rossi, who did not have that advantage, was beaten with a switch – and beaten badly, at that. What if I had turned out to be guilty and Rossi innocent? Would you wish your guards to have done that to an innocent man?”

“But Rossi was guilty,” said the Doge.

“Of course he was, Your Serene Highness, but your guards didn't know that. The difference in the way they treated us was nothing to do with who was guilty and who was innocent. It was based on no more than rank. That is unfair. If I had done something wrong, I would not expect my rank to protect me from the consequences of my actions. But equally, if I were a commoner – which, please do not forget, Your Serene Highness, I was, not so very long ago – I should also expect the full protection of the law if I had done nothing wrong, or if my guilt or innocence was not clear. Rossi certainly did not get that.”

The Doge frowned. “We are, I'm afraid, used to rather rough justice here, especially for possible assassins. I have to deal with them rather more often than I should like.”

“So does Baron Wulfenbach, Your Serene Highness. So do I.”

She nodded. “You do make some fair points, and you make them well and with some force. It says much for you that you are prepared to defend Rossi at all, considering that he could well have got you killed. Even so, our system has worked well for us for a long time. I am not sure about changing it, though I admit it could be fairer.”

“It has worked well for you, Your Serene Highness. How well has it worked for your people?”

She gazed at me for a while. Then, suddenly, she smiled.

“Last time I saw you, I was astonished to hear that you had survived two attempts by Captain DuPree to kill you,” she said. “I am not so astonished now.”

I bowed. “I am flattered, Your Serene Highness. However...” I let the word hang in the air.

“However, you have a steel core, my fine English lord, and, polite as you are, you will not give in, will you? You deserve a rich reward for saving my life, and I know exactly what reward you want; one which will be of no personal benefit to you, but a great deal of trouble to me.” There was a hint of mischief now in her smile; it was odd, on that dignified face.

“Yes, Your Serene Highness,” I said. “You do know what I want.”

She considered. “I cannot change everything in a day. But this is what I will do for you. I will ban the switch, and all other such devices. You were not treated well, and I sincerely regret that; but I shall see to it that, at the very least, no prisoner in future, regardless of rank or station, will be treated any worse than you were.”

I bowed again. “Thank you, Your Serene Highness.”

“I trust you do not have any objection to Petrucci being told off to clean the drains?” she asked, still smiling.

“Not at all, Your Serene Highness. I feel that will be of... general benefit.”

“Or to Rossi being drowned in the lagoon?”

I shrugged. “It is said to be a reasonably merciful death, Your Serene Highness.”

“Excellent! Then I shall send for my optician, and he will arrange to make you the finest pair of spectacles in Venice. And... I understand that your wife is here with you. I had better send someone to reassure her that you are all right.”

“Yes, Your Serene Highness,” I said. “We are, in fact, on our honeymoon. I suspect she will be at the British Embassy now, raising Cain in a highly efficient fashion.”

“If she is the type to raise Cain, I had perhaps better invite her to the palace so that she can see for herself that you are all right.” She considered. “Apart from the bruises. Perhaps I shall have Petrucci clean the drains for two years, not one. He is very hot-headed.”

Gil occasionally accuses me of being too merciful to my enemies. He was not there to note what I was thinking about Petrucci. As far as I was concerned, Petrucci could go on drain-cleaning duty for the rest of his life; I had him squarely in the same mental category as Captain DuPree. People like that do not reform. Thankfully, they are not as common as those who may if they are given the chance.

So Lucilla was invited to the palace without delay, and if Cain had been raised, he was promptly lowered again; naturally, Lucilla was exceedingly annoyed about the bruises, but that was mostly outweighed by her relief that I was all right and had not been falsely charged as an assassin. The optician arrived very shortly after Lucilla did; he was a fussy little man who spoke in the local dialect, but that was not a problem for me, although it is very different from standard Italian. He was, however, exceptionally good at his job, possibly even better than my regular optician. The new spectacles were in my hands by the end of the week, and I have since been keeping my promise to the Doge to wear them all the time, except, of course, when I am doing close work. They are a great deal more comfortable than the old pair, so I no longer notice I have them on.

I did not tell either the Doge or Lucilla that Petrucci had threatened to kill me. To this day, I am not sure why I held back. He is a cruel, mean-spirited man who should not be allowed near prisoners or, to be honest, anyone else over whom he might have the slightest influence. If I had said anything, he would have gone into the lagoon alongside Rossi and it would have been no loss to the world.

Perhaps Gil is right, after all.


End file.
